


Wrap The Night Around Me

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Blindness, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-01 20:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10929525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: When the TARDIS materialises on her coffee table on a Friday night, Clara is not immediately concerned about anything other than the pile of splintered wood in her lounge. That is, until she enters the console room to find the Cloister Bell tolling, and a Time Lord devoid of the ability to see...





	Wrap The Night Around Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xXdreameaterXx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXdreameaterXx/gifts).



> This was inspired by the events of _Oxygen_ , and the fact that [Chrissi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/xXdreameaterXx/pseuds/xXdreameaterXx) was keen for a similar scenario but with Whouffaldi hurt/comfort. Many thanks to [Alex](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSaddleman/pseuds/TheSaddleman) for betaing this!

Clara supposed, in hindsight, that the awful parking job should really have been the first indication that something was terribly wrong. 

As it was, when the TARDIS appeared out of nowhere, as it was wont to do, on a Friday evening as she worked through a pile of coursework and mourned the death of her social life, she only blinked at it in mild shock, before the time machine materialised on her coffee table and she swore with the kind of language that would have earned her students a week’s worth of detention.

Seething about the loss of her favourite mug — although less so about some of the trashy magazines that she would have denied reading if questioned — she drew herself up to her (admittedly not considerable) full height, ready to swear at the Doctor. Or slap him. Possibly both. 

To her surprise, however, no Time Lord was forthcoming from the blue box. It just sat there, wheezing quietly, and- 

Her blood ran cold. 

Even from outside the time machine, she could hear the faint peals of the Cloister Bell. She knew what that meant — indeed, she had caused it to ring enough times that she felt a rising sense of guilt — and she pushed the doors open and rushed into the console room before she could stop to consider her own safety. Something terrible had happened, and her coffee table and favourite mug were frankly unimportant in the grand scheme of things. “Doctor?” she called, looking around in panic. He should be at the controls. He should be grinning at her flustered expression and teasing her surprisingly round face. He should be- 

“Clara?” asked a very small voice that sounded only vaguely like the Doctor she knew and loved, and she looked down towards the lower level, where between the conduits she could see the outline of the silver-haired Time Lord, glowing faintly orange in the light of the console. “Is that you?” 

“Who else would it be?” she shot back, feeling relief flood through her at having located him, and at him appearing to be in one piece. “Do you know any other London-based English teachers?” 

“No,” he said quietly, and she watched as he made his way towards the steps up to where she was stood. He was moving far more slowly than he usually did, as though uncertain of his own coordination, and she felt the panic rising in her chest again as she watched his unsteady movements. “I don’t.” 

“What’s going on?” she asked, unable to shake the fear that was beginning to course through her as she noticed the echoing tolling still reverberating through the TARDIS. “Why’s the Cloister Bell ringing?”

“Clara,” he said again, as he reached the top step and held out a hand. “Where-”

He turned into the light, and she gasped in horror. His eyes were milky white, the usually vivid irises obscured and the surrounding skin an angry pinkish-red. At the sound of her gasp, he took a halting step towards her, caught his foot against the edge of the flooring and crashed to the ground, cursing under his breath as he fell. She moved to his side instinctively, crouching beside him and resting a hand on his shoulder as he rearranged himself into a sitting position, leaning into her touch as he did so. He couldn’t see. Something had happened, and he couldn’t see, and that was why the bell was ringing. She wasn’t entirely sure what to say or do, but she figured that comforting him would be a good start.

“Hey,” she said quietly, sliding her hand down his arm to avoid removing the reassurance of physical touch from him, and then taking his hand in her own. “I’m here. Are you hurt? I mean, other than… other than your eyes.” 

“Bruised shins,” he said in an oddly strangled tone, and she realised he was aiming for levity. “Bruised shins, and some bruised pride. Nothing worse.” 

“Except…”

“Except I can’t see. Yes, I got that memo, thanks,” he snapped abruptly, and she jumped at the force of his words, letting go of his hand as she did so. His face immediately took on a panicked look, and he reached out for her, grasping for her in a childlike manner. “Clara? I’m sorry, please, I didn’t… Clara, please, where are you?” 

“I know,” she murmured, her heart breaking as she watched the strong, stoic Time Lord shake with fear. She took his hand again, knowing he needed reassurance, and she felt him relax at her touch. “I’m here. I’m right here. Are you gonna tell me what happened?” 

“Mm,” he hummed vaguely. “Can we move though? This floor might be practical for adventures, but it isn’t comfortable to sit on.”

“Well, you can crash on my sofa, but you wrecked my coffee table,” Clara teased, in an effort to stop herself from crying. “Your parking leaves a lot to be desired.”

“I’d like to remind you that I’m blind.” 

“Doesn’t explain the last four times though, does it?” she said, in a voice that wavered only fractionally. “Or what you did to my toaster.” 

“I was testing the structural integrity,” he muttered, as Clara got to her feet and then helped him up, dusting down his jacket once he was vertical. “Which was weak.”

“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Sure.” 

“I know you’re rolling your eyes,” he told her, poking his tongue out childishly. “Don’t.” 

“How can you…” 

“Clara Oswald, I know you,” he reminded her, allowing himself to be led towards the doors and out into Clara’s sitting room. “And I know your eye rolls.” 

“Smart arse,” she chided, putting her hands on his shoulders and guiding him towards the sofa. “Sit. Stay. Gonna make tea.” 

“What?” he said at once, visibly beginning to panic at the prospect of being left alone. “No, I can’t… Clara…” 

“Doctor, I will be in the next room,” she told him patiently. “That’s all. If you need me, you only need to call.” 

“But…”

“I will be five minutes.” 

“Clara…” his voice broke as he said her name, and she sighed, resigning herself to having him as her shadow. 

“OK,” she said, squeezing his hand, and his breathing began to even out. “OK, I won’t leave you. It’s alright.” 

Leading him to the kitchen, she looked around and realised the issue. “I’m going to have to let go of your hand to make tea,” she said pragmatically. “I will keep talking, so you’ll know you’re not alone. Is that OK?” 

The Doctor nodded after half a beat, albeit reluctantly.   

“Good,” she forced a smile, even though he couldn’t see her, and then let go of his hand, grabbing the kettle and filling it as he leaned against a work surface, perfectly immobile. His motionlessness made her uneasy, as she realised she’d never seen him so still, but she tried to sound upbeat as she continued: “Can’t have you getting too clingy. Not that I mind, of course, but… well, it might be hard to explain at school.” 

“A little.”

“The kids today were a bloody nightmare,” she clicked her tongue against her teeth as she switched the kettle on and took out two mugs, dropping a tea bag into each. Normality. Yeah. This was normal. Making tea and talking about work with the Doctor. Who was blind. So normal. “God knows why. I swear they’re conspiring against me.”

“Nah, that’d be the egomania.”

“Probably,” she acquiesced, laughing a little. Him teasing her was good. That was _definitely_ normal. “But still. You’d have got them all in line, I bet. No problem for the Oncoming Storm.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he shrugged modestly. “Teenagers are more your remit than mine.”

She could see him getting edgy again, so she took his hand and stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling into his chest. After a moment, his arms came up to embrace her clumsily, and she felt him relax under her touch. “Time Lords are more my thing,” she said, resting her chin on his chest so she could look up at him. “Especially you.”

“You’re daft,” he scoffed, though his cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink. “You make it sound like I need a minder.”

“You do,” she reminded him. “That’s why I’m here.” 

“That and the fact I like having you around.”

“Well, aren’t you quite the charmer today?” 

The kettle clicked, and Clara tried to pull away only to find the Doctor clinging to her all the tighter. “I need you,” he murmured, sounding almost ashamed about this fact. “Now more than ever.” 

“I know,” she assured him, reaching up to cup his cheek, and he flinched at the unexpected contact before leaning into the warmth of her palm. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

She frowned then, looking at the angry red skin around his eyes and trying to recall anything of the first aid she’d learnt in her youth. 

“Are they sore?” she asked, worriedly. “Your eyes?” 

He shrugged, attempting to look nonchalant and failing. “A little.” 

“Right,” Clara raised an eyebrow, pulling away from the hug. “I can do something about that, and make tea, and then you can tell me what the hell happened.” 

“Fine,” he muttered. “Just… six sugars.” 

“I know,” she told him. “I know your tooth-rotting tea preferences by now, remember?” 

She made the tea, then retrieved a tray and a shallow bowl, filling the latter with warm water. Digging through the cupboard under the sink, she found an immaculately clean J-cloth and placed that on the tray, too, arranging it between the mugs so that it couldn’t flutter to the floor, and then prepared herself to carry the precariously stacked arrangement through to the lounge. It was then that she realised the problem. “Ah.” 

“What?” the Doctor asked, immediately concerned by her tone of voice. “What’s wrong?” 

“I can’t carry a tray and hold onto you. But I will be right back.” 

“But-” 

“Right back,” she said firmly, taking the tray into the lounge and setting it down on the floor beside the TARDIS and the shattered remains of her coffee table. With that done, she headed back to the kitchen and took the Doctor’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “See? Right back.” 

“Hello,” he hummed as she led him into the lounge and arranged him carefully on the sofa, watching sadly as he turned his head from side to side in an attempt to ascertain his surroundings. “Can I have my tea now?” 

“Nope,” she said firmly. “Not yet.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s scalding, and with you being unable to see and all, I’m somewhat concerned about spillage. Taking you to A&E would be a bloody fiasco, especially with the two hearts thing, and if UNIT found out you’d burned your crotch on tea, they’d laugh until the next decade. Blindness or no blindness.”

“Fair point.” 

“Also because I need to clean your eyes first.” 

“Hang on…”

Clara picked up the bowl of warm water and dipped the cloth into it, wringing it out and giving the Doctor a warning look that she only somewhat belatedly realised he couldn’t see. “Also, you’re going to tell me what happened.” 

“I am?” 

“Yes, you are,” she said, and gently swiped the cloth over the lower edge of his eye socket, well away from the angriest, rawest looking skin. He hissed in complaint nonetheless, and she realised that the angle she was sat at would be wholly impractical for reaching his other eye, and resigned herself to the inevitable. “I’m going to sit on you,” she warned. “So don’t jump, or we’ll both end up on the floor.” 

“You’re going to wh…” 

She swung her leg over him, straddling his lap before he could complain, and she reached up to dab at the inflamed skin before he could try to wriggle away. He yelped in pain and clutched her waist for support, and she felt a twinge of guilt. “Sorry,” she told him, dabbing at the same area again and watching him bite down on his lip in pain. “I’d have thought you’d had worse than this.” 

“I have, but usually there’s a cure-all for that.” 

“Don’t even…” 

“Honestly, this isn’t too bad,” the Doctor bluffed, some of his usual bravado seeping into his voice. “Imploding helmets aside and all.” 

“Imploding _what_?!” 

“It’s really not as bad as all that,” he stammered, as Clara sat back and stared at him in open-mouthed horror. “It sounds much worse than it is.” 

“Sorry, but a helmet imploded into your eyes and now you’re blind. How is that ‘not as bad as it sounds’?” 

“Well, there was also some boiling, but I figured you wouldn’t want to hear about that.” 

“Some _what_?”

“Well, in the vacuum of space-” 

“What the hell were you doing?!” Clara asked, her voice tight with unshed tears at the thought of him in space, in pain and terrified. “What were you playing at?” 

“I wasn’t playing at anything!” he protested, turning his head away from her. “I was trying to help someone, and I just… the glass imploded, that’s all. It was an old suit, it wasn’t anyone’s fault.” 

“Right.” 

“Clara…” he sighed. “Please. It was just… I don’t want to talk about it, OK?” 

“But-” 

“No,” he said firmly, reaching up to put his hand over hers. “Really, no. It was bad enough thinking I was going to die, but now…”

“But now _what_?” Clara asked wearily. “Now you’re stuck like this and completely vulnerable?” 

“No,” the Doctor mumbled, and he blushed again. “I mean, yes, but no. I just… god, it sounds daft, but now… now I can’t even see you.” 

“You’re not missing much.” 

“I am,” he said sadly, and the sincerity of his words surprised her. “I’m missing your smile.” 

“Hey,” she told him, taking his hands in hers and guiding them to her face. “You’re not.” 

She forced herself to smile then, her aching heart be damned, and she watched as he mirrored her expression, his face lighting up. He cupped her cheeks with the utmost gentleness, holding her as though she were made of glass, and she felt her eyes well up with tears. 

“No,” he said softly, sensing her distress. “No, Clara, don’t.” 

“Don’t what? Don’t cry for you?” 

“Exactly,” he pressed a clumsy kiss to her forehead. “I’ve done what I can. You’re doing what you can. Even if this is permanent… well, it’ll just be until I change. Which I can do, if I have to.”

“No,” she said at once, aghast at the very thought, she shook her head furiously. “No, I won’t let you.” 

“So you’d have me stuck like this forever?” he asked, but there was no anger or malice in his tone, only quiet curiosity. “Unable to see? Unable to take care of myself? Reliant on you?”

“No,” she denied, feeling selfish for her words but not caring. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t… please don’t change. Please, Doctor.” 

“I might have to.”

“I don’t mind looking after you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said in a rush. “I don’t. I really don’t.” 

“But I can’t do that to you,” he said softly. “I can’t burden you like that. Don’t you think my enemies would come knocking? Keen to take advantage of me while I was weak? What if they hurt you to get to me? What if they killed you because you got in the way?” 

“I…” 

“I can’t put you at that kind of risk,” he continued, his jaw setting in defiance. “I won’t.” 

“What are you saying? That you’re going to go? That you’re going to leave me behind?” 

“I don’t know,” he exhaled deeply. “Maybe, I suppose.”

“Please,” she begged, unable to bear the thought of him suffering alone in the TARDIS, while she was stuck on Earth, heartbroken and afraid. “Please. You can’t… I won’t let you. I’m not letting you go out there on your own and vulnerable just because you’re too bloody stubborn to accept my help. You’re staying here. That’s an order, Doctor, do you understand?” 

“But…”

“You are _staying here._ And I swear to you, if I wake up and find you’ve flown off in that blue box and left me behind, then so help me god, I will assemble the might of UNIT, and they will come down on you like a ton of bloody bricks. Do you understand me?” 

“Yes, I understand,” he acquiesced, wrapping his arms around her again. “I’ll stay, OK? I promise. I’ll stay, and I’ll try to fix myself.” 

“Good.” 

“Now, I believe you were playing nurse.” 

“So I was.”

 

* * *

 

Thus began Clara’s duty of care. That first evening, she cleaned the Doctor’s wounds and then tucked him up in bed, had a glass of wine, and removed everything breakable from every available surface in her flat, determined not to allow damage to befall either the Time Lord nor her property. She politely asked the TARDIS to tuck herself into the corner of the lounge, and when this request was ignored, she entered the time machine and negotiated with her more determinedly, until the spacecraft obeyed and wedged itself into a spot beside the TV, and Clara felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. When that was done, she re-entered her bedroom and curled up beside the Doctor, keeping one hand on him as she fell asleep, and when she woke, she found him nuzzled into her, which in any other situation might have been endearing, had the circumstances been less dire. 

He jolted awake with a start some time later and almost fell out of bed in a panic, but she held him and murmured to him until he calmed down, then she pulled on a dressing gown, headed into the kitchen and began the experimental art of switching off the kettle at precisely the right moment before it boiled in order to avoid visually impaired Time Lord-related mishaps. 

Only after breakfast had been consumed did she allow the Doctor to wander into the TARDIS under her supervision, although the time machine seemed nothing but concerned for her thief, and accommodated him accordingly. Although Clara strongly suspected that the Doctor knew the machine’s controls inside-out anyway, the screen produced some kind of audio-visual interface in Gallifreyan that she neither understood nor wanted to attempt to understand, and so it was that the Doctor tinkered with the time capsule until he produced something that looked suspiciously like his previously favoured sonic sunglasses, arranging them on his face only somewhat wonkily and beaming with pride at a spot two metres to Clara’s left.

“I’m over here,” she told him drily, and he adjusted his gaze accordingly. “Hello. What are they for?” 

“Depth perception,” he said proudly, gesturing to the surrounding console room. “They’ll allow me to work out where things are. Means I won’t fall over as much. Hopefully.” 

“Right,” Clara said, entirely unconvinced by his new invention. Maybe-invention. If they even worked. “You did just fail to locate me standing a few feet away, though.”

“It’s not my fault you’re tiny.”

“I thought I was wide? I can’t be both.” 

“Shut up,” he muttered, looking sour about her lack of enthusiasm. “I’m being clever.”

“Can you fix your eyes, though?” she teased, then immediately felt guilty as his face fell.

“I’m trying,” he said sadly. “Really, I am.”

 

* * *

 

On Monday morning, Clara phoned into work and told them about an urgent family crisis that had arisen over the weekend. The Doctor loitered in the doorway, not wearing his sunglasses, but somehow managing to raise his eyebrows in her direction nonetheless.

“You could go to work, you know,” he told her with a guilty expression. “I’m not completely helpless.” 

“What, and have you murdered by Cybermen while I’m gone?” 

“Oh yeah, you’re really keeping the Cybermen at bay,” he shot back sarcastically. “You’re that terrifying.” 

“Clearly,” she deadpanned, adopting her best teacher voice. “I’m not leaving you unattended. You’ll either break yourself or break something I own. _Again_. So, I’m staying here with you and working from home. Then we’re going to Ikea, and you’re buying me a new coffee table.”

“Clara, there are many things I can do. I can save planets and worlds. I can speak billions of languages. I can play a killer riff on four hundred-string instruments. But navigating flat-pack furniture blind is a stretch, even for a superior being such as myself.” 

“Look, we’re going to Ikea, you’re getting me a new table, and you’re assembling it for me when your vision returns.” 

“You seem very sure about that.” 

“There _is_ an Ikea in the next borough, Doctor.” 

“I meant about my eyesight coming back.”

“Well, it will. Don’t get mopey on me. I’m not dealing with you being depressed and blind.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m sick of this,” the Doctor announced on Wednesday morning, scowling through his sunglasses as they sat at the breakfast table and he shoved toast crusts around his plate with the sonic. “I’m bored, and I’m fed up.”

“You have things to tinker with, and I signed you up to Audible.” 

“It’s difficult to tinker when you can’t bloody _see_ anything. Besides, the books on Audible are terrible.”

“Oh, and here I was thinking that you were tinkering with the express purpose of fixing the need for Audible.” 

“I’m bloody trying!” he shouted, and Clara jumped at the sudden change in volume. The Doctor looked regretful as he lowered his voice. “I’m trying, but this is a nightmare, and I hate being a bloody burden on you, and I hate the fact that you’re sneaking off to cry, so stop pretending like everything is alright!”

“How do you…”

“Here’s the thing about being blind,” he said bitterly, his face contorting into a scowl. “It forces your other senses to overcompensate.” 

“Doctor… I’m not… you’re not a burden, I just…” 

“What?” he snapped. “You just _what_?” 

“I just want you to get better,” she admitted in a small voice, feeling a pang of guilt. “Because I know what being stuck here is doing to you, and it’s breaking my heart.” 

“I’m sorry that I’m inconveniencing you.” 

“You’re not… Jesus Christ, why am I even bothering? You’re not going to listen to me, or believe me. What’s the damn point in even having this argument?”

Clara got to her feet, grabbing her keys from the side as she yanked on her coat. 

“Wait,” he said, his anger fading and being replaced by panic. “I didn’t mean… Clara… where…”

“I’m going out,” she told him brusquely. “Stay here, and calm the hell down.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Clara returned home, her anger had long since dissipated. Stepping over the threshold, she found the Doctor curled up on her sofa, his eyes even more inflamed than they had been of late, and she realised he’d been crying in her absence. At the sound of the door, his head shot up, and he asked in a tremulous voice: “Clara, or Cyberman?”

“Clara,” she said quietly, shrugging off her coat and crossing to the sofa, sinking down beside him and pulling him into her arms. “I’m sorry.” 

“Me, too,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Sorry. I just don’t like… don’t like feeling like I’m hurting you.” 

“You aren’t,” she promised in a gentle voice, stroking his hair as she spoke. “Honestly, Doctor, I promise you… you aren’t. I’m just worried about you.”

“I know,” he clung to her a little tighter. “I want to fix things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to fix _myself_.” 

“But…” she pulled back and blinked at him in horror as she understood what he meant. “You can’t, can you? Not without… not without changing completely.” 

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “I guess I won’t know if I don’t try.” 

“Please,” she murmured, cuddling into him again so that he couldn’t see her face as she wept silent tears at the prospect of losing him. “Please, don’t. Not yet. Give it a couple more days, see what happens.”

“But if I change, I’d be able to see again.”

“But you wouldn’t be you,” she argued, clutching at his jumper in desperation, hating herself for her own selfishness. “And I don’t think I could stand that. Not again.”

“Because you’re really standing _this_ so well.”

“ _This_ ,” she told him firmly, blinking to clear her vision and then looking up, placing one hand on his cheek. “This is infinitely more tolerable than a new you.” 

“Clara, this isn’t about you,” he reminded her gently. “I can’t see, and I’m a risk to you every second of every day as long as that continues. If I changed… I’m reasonably sure I could keep this face. I’ve done it before, when I was young and had vanity issues. And I’d be able to see again. To see and to take you places and to have adventures like before. I wouldn’t be sitting around, getting in the way and posing a risk to you and the entire planet.” 

She nodded, closing her eyes against the tears that burned there. “I know,” she murmured. “I know, it just…” 

“I’m scared too, you know,” he confessed, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Scared of changing, but… I have to try. For you. For Earth.” 

“I know,” she said tightly. “Doctor, I promise I’ll stay with you. No matter what. Even if… even if it comes to _that._ ” 

“Thank you,” he told her, as she nuzzled into him and tried to cling to the last vestiges of her composure. “My Clara.”

 

* * *

 

Exactly a week after he arrived, Clara found herself stood in the TARDIS with the Doctor, fighting back tears as he attempted to smile reassuringly at her. The uncertainty of the situation was weighing down on her, making it hard to catch her breath, and she inhaled deeply in an attempt to regain her composure. 

“Don’t mess this up,” she managed in a small voice, opening her eyes and drinking in the sight of him for what could be the final time, although that was a thought she was determined not to entertain. “I mean, if you can stop it once it’s started…”

“I can’t.”

“Ah,” she swallowed, remembering what she’d said last time, and hating herself for saying it again but repeating herself nonetheless: “Please don’t change.” 

“I’ll try not to.” 

“Promise me?” 

He only grinned by way of response, a golden glow creeping up from his collar, and she turned away, unable to watch. He couldn’t regenerate now. He couldn’t leave her; couldn’t abandon her, no matter whether it cured him or not. She knew it was selfish, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She didn’t want a new Doctor; she wanted her angry Scottish magician, with his velvet coats and his attack eyebrows and his ludicrous electric guitar. She wanted him to be OK, yes, but she wanted-

“Clara?”

A familiar voice cut over her inner monologue, and her breath caught in her chest. She hardly dared hope, and she forced herself to be pragmatic.

“Clara, look at me.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I want your face to be the first thing these new eyes see.” 

She turned to look at him then, and broke into a grin as she took in the comforting sight of his silver hair and worn face and brighter-than-bright ice-chip eyes. Her Doctor. Her Doctor, but without the pain of the last few days. “Hello stranger,” she said somewhat breathlessly. “Nice eyebrows.” 

“Nice _eyes,_ you mean.”

“Them, too.” 

“You know,” he said, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around her waist in triumph. “I don’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful than right now.” 

“That’s edging dangerously close to flirting,” Clara chided, although her pulse was thundering in her ears at the compliment. “I thought you were against flirting.”

“I can make an exception,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to her hair and then letting out a whoop of celebration. “Oh, my Clara. Things are going to be alright!”

“My Doctor,” she replied automatically, leaning against him and allowing herself to relax for the first time in a week. “Back to saving the universe, then?” 

“Oh, I don’t know…” he looked down at her with a teasing expression. “I’ve got quite attached to your little flat.” 

“You’re kidding, right?” 

“Of course I am. The woman in it, however…” 

“Soppy idiot.” 

“I’m serious,” he looked her in the eyes for the first time in a week, and she could see the gratitude laid bare in his gaze. “Thank you, Clara.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

“Well, I _am_ mentioning it. Thank you, a million times over.” 

“Really, don’t,” she looked down in embarrassment, her cheeks turning pink. “Take me somewhere beautiful, how about that? That can be your thank you.” 

“I think we have a deal.” 

“And then Ikea.”

“Yes boss.”


End file.
